


i've made a promise to never lose sight

by orphan_account



Category: Glee, Hunger Games Series - All Media Types
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-05
Updated: 2012-09-05
Packaged: 2017-11-13 14:45:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/504631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They are lovers, and they are brothers, and they are the sibling tributes of district ten (a whisper through the crowd at night), broken and messed-up and mad, but each other’s for this night and all the nights after that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i've made a promise to never lose sight

**Author's Note:**

> Rating is M for Hunger Games AU and all it entails: graphic violence and minors fighting to death. Incestuous, same-sex relationship between two people the age of consent. Semi-graphic depictions of sex. Some mild D/s undertones at the beginning and the end. Heavy angst.

It was never big : just them, after their father’s death, a luxury of nights together, frantic or slow but always loving, always theirs. In this far end of the district, the Victor’s village, it was always every man for himself, and they weren't disturbed.

No one knew.

.

 _You have to say it_ , he utters, and it’s only a whisper, a ghost of words against Blaine’s skin. It’s three days until the reaping, Blaine’s last. Cooper’s hands toy with his body: feather-like over his hips, and lower as he grips tight, tight like a vice, and he works over Blaine’s length slower than possible. Blaine is begging by then, for more or for less but for  _something,_ but Cooper doesn’t give it, he doesn’t forget.

His breath echoes over Blaine’s lips this time as he repeats himself, voice tight, voice commanding. Words can bruise.  _Say it._

Blaine gives up then, as he has every year, every time. He relents _: I’ll come back. Cooper, I’ll—I’ll come back. I’ll do anything._  Cooper suggests the words before they get past Blaine’s lips, aching.  _I will kill._

_I can kill._

It’s over soon then, bittersweet and hurting; Cooper’s lips tighten and close at the base of Blaine’s cock and he speeds up, eyes screwed shut, a hand on his brother’s chest, holding him down.

The next day he won’t go out: he’ll stay at home sat on the bed, and tell Blaine one more time, the story of how he won the games, how he came back unharmed and victorious.

He will repeat it and make Blaine repeat it, like every year, tell Blaine:  _it’s no different from killing an animal._

Maybe it is, and Cooper still bears the weight of having ended a human life, a flick of his wrist and the lights go out forever.

But Blaine will say it isn’t: they’re no different from animals, and it won’t be different.

.

It’s the night before the reaping, and Blaine is fast asleep against his brother, his breath over Cooper’s neck, his hands entangled in his shirt. He shuffled closer early in the evening, shifting his body closer to Cooper like he used to sleep as an infant, when he needed comfort.

The way his hand holds Cooper’s head, fingers deep in his hair, whisper with the night:  _don’t leave me here alone._

Cooper looks at him frantic, hoping to believe in his own words: Blaine won’t get picked, it won’t be Blaine. It won’t be Blaine.

.

It is Blaine.

.

He walks up to the stage on shaky legs, eyes ghosting over the crowd to find Cooper’s one last time: he stands there erect and proud, the Victor’s brother. He mouths: I promise, and the crowd cheers for the Tribute brothers.

Cooper closes his eyes when Blaine turns his back and he can see it: Blaine and him standing over the crowd together, victorious.

The Victor brothers.

He looks over at the girl tribute, a fragile thing with death in her gaze. He can see Blaine cracking open her skull, like he did to the boy from district two when he was a tribute.

He can see Blaine win, but most of all he can see Blaine kill, and it brings him to his knees.

He’s sick all night.

.

The girl on the train laces her fingers around Blaine’s wrist and tries to seduce him: if she hopes for an ally or a one-time lover, Blaine can’t tell, but either way he already has all he needs. He doesn’t speak, but he thinks:  _I have one already, for this night and all the nights after that. An ally, a lover, a brother in arms._

He hasn’t forgotten how to make his hands skate over his bare, cold skin, and make it feel like Cooper’s.

He hasn’t forgotten the smell or the voice or the exact shade of Cooper’s eyes.

By the time they get to the Capitol the taste Cooper on his mouth has turned rotten.

He knows this love will get him nowhere, will get him nothing.

.

He looks at the tributes, and he sorts them into two groups: people he’ll kill, and people he’d rather avoid. He never distrusts his ability to do it, not for a second, and he looks over at them and counts.

The girl from one, the boy from two. Both from three, and none from four. The boys from six and seven. The girl from nine. The girl from ten, his district counterpart. Both from twelve. Those he can take out.

The rest he ignores, and they ignore him back.

.

The worst part, the difficult part is the build-up: knowing that with every instant, every heartbeat ir intake of breath, can come either being killed or giving death.

For a day he hides in the forest and doesn't blink and he wonders which would be worse.

He does have something, a backpack with some food and a sleeping bag. He stole a sword from the Cornucopia and he mimics passing a body around its blade.

It makes him smile.

.

The second day he kills: he hears footsteps and he reaches around the tree, unseen, grabs a body.

He cuts the boy around the throat, all the way through and then sideways. He wipes his blade on the cooling corpse.

He feels nothing.

.

From there it’s easy. He looks up into the camera, and he doesn’t speak, but his eyes carry his renewed promise to his brother, this time not mere words.

_I can kill._

.

He pushes the girl from twelve into the blazing flames, the last tribute standing. He smirks when he remembers her outfit, her nickname. The girl on fire burns on.

He can barely remember her name.

He stands over the Cornucopia alone, his gaze alight. He can feel the crowd over him when he gets out of the arena, the proud gaze of his brother on him.

He spares a thought for the trembling boy he used to be, small and aching to be loved.

Now he is.

.

His brother has forgotten how to hold him, how to make him moan and breathe out in pleasure. Cooper holds him at night tight and close to his body, like Blaine is a frozen corpse on the ground of the arena. He cries when he thinks Blaine isn’t listening. He holds Blaine close and he cries as though he has lost him.

Blaine holds him close and wonders what it is he did wrong. He thinks about the lives he took, as Cooper asked him to: proud and aching to be recognized as Cooper’s equal. Always thinking of his brother, always fearing for his life but always victorious.

Blaine doesn't understand.

.

Blaine makes love to Cooper and stares straight at him, impassible, a rock of power and always death in his eyes, and Cooper cries sleepless night after sleepless night. He lost his brother to the arena, to never wording out the promise he should have.

_Never forget yourself: young and loving. Don’t become them; don’t become like them; don’t let them break you._

_Don’t lose yourself to killing._

.

It takes a while for Cooper to understand the extent to which this experience has changed Blaine, and even longer to admit there's nothing he can do that will help him change back. It's days and nights of despair, seemingly endless, until they click into a routine, a life together farther apart than before, but of mutual understanding like they've never had. 

They are lovers, and they are brothers, and they are the sibling victors of district ten (a whisper through the crowd at night), broken and messed-up and mad, but each other’s for this night and all the nights after that.


End file.
